Page 100 of Revenge on the Mafia

“I like him.” I followed her gaze. Hand in his pocket, the other with a phone cradled to his cheek, his eyes still pinned on me. Every time I looked at him, my heart skipped a beat. Like it had lost track of the plan.

“Shall we go back?”

She nodded. We turned and traced our footsteps back. Like we used to do when we were young, we tried to sink our feet into the trail we’d left behind.

“How come you never asked me about him?”

“What’s there to ask?” Mara looked at me. Then back at him.

“He knows too much about us. About Papá,” I clarified.

“So?”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what I knew. That Nico was involved in his death. I wanted to defend him in her eyes. “He knows something we don’t,” I said instead.

She shrugged. “Maybe we were never meant to know. Otherwise, Papá would have told us.” She picked up a seashell. It was beautiful. Cold and unique. Just like the man waiting for me. Dusting it off, she placed it in my hand. “He’s intense, but he loves you. You should have someone who loves you like that.”

He didn’t love me. But it didn’t stop me from asking. “Like what?”

“Like he’d rather bleed himself dry than watch you in pain.”

Mara left soon after in a taxi that Nico had requested. He seemed to know the driver. When he got close to him and muttered something in his ear, I was sure it was a threat. Something like I’ll take off your head if you don’t make sure she’s safe. She hugged him. He told her to visit us in New York. I wondered how she’d do that in the five days we had left.

The house was too quiet with her gone. No hospital visits. No funeral arrangements. Grief strolled out of all corners. I was bursting at my seams. Terrified I’d break far worse than I’d done already, I asked him if he wanted to go for a drive.

“Yes.” His voice was steady. I couldn’t remember if he’d ever said no to me. “Where to?” he asked.

“Home.” Without another word, he drove out. The drive passed in a daze. I couldn’t focus on anything. Mara’s words bubbled inside my head.

Maybe we were never meant to know.

Otherwise, Papá would have told us.

You should have someone who loves you like that.

Like what?

Like he’d rather bleed himself dry than watch you in pain.

“You want to go inside?”

“Huh?”

He’d parked outside our old home. I didn’t even ask him how he knew the address. Or how he knew I was even referring to it when I could as well have meant the apartment we’d stayed in after Papá had died. We had a view of the house. The black cobblestones leading up to the front door. Palm trees lining it on either side. Fuchsia bougainvilleas wrapped around the house like a bracelet sparkling with gems. My obsession might have started there.

A memory falls into place. Papá on his ladder, trimming the bougainvilleas. Mamá and I seated in the garden below him.

“Look what I made for you,” Mamá said. It was a bracelet of bougainvilleas. “If you get lost, that can guide you home.”

“Anna?”

Now both of them were gone, and only the bougainvilleas were left behind. But even those I didn’t own.

I fought to push words through my vocal cords. “Thank you.” He didn’t respond, and emotion had turned my body to stone. The breeze picked up and a few lonely leaves from the bougainvillea fluttered to the ground. “Thank you for visiting her.” I squeezed my eyes shut. My mind filling with words from Mamá.

He takes care of me, you know.

He’s here to see me now.